


Serenading the Soul

by PaintingWithDarkness



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon), Young Justice (Comics), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: 1st POV, Additional Warnings Apply, Bart is 19, Bart's POV, Cute, Dating, Everyone is of age, Fluff, Jaime is 22, Kissing, M/M, Non-powered AU, Strong Language, Underage Drinking, college!Bart, guitar player!Jaime, mentions of sexual experimentation, singer!Jaime, so if you can't stand 1st person give this one a pass, this is written in 1st person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:27:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25144660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaintingWithDarkness/pseuds/PaintingWithDarkness
Summary: Falling in love is different for everyone, or so I’ve heard. Some people fall fast; for others, the fall is a slow tumble down into warm, waiting arms.  Love doesn’t look the same for any two people. I’ve heard it described as a dance, a blazing fire, and even a battlefield. But for me, love is none of these things. I fell in love with Jaime Reyes’ voice, and for me, love is a song.
Relationships: Bart Allen/Jaime Reyes, Implied Roy Harper/Jason Todd, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Past Bart Allen/Eduardo Dorado Jr., Tim Drake/Cassie Sandsmark, past Bart Allen/Tim Drake
Comments: 6
Kudos: 40





	1. Love is a Song

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bluepulsebluepulse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluepulsebluepulse/gifts).



> To be completely honest, this fic is one of the most self-indulgent things I've ever written. I've had this AU in mind forever, and finally decided to make a start on it when I was drunk, of all things. The first drafts of all of these chapters have been written whilst I had alcohol in my system, and the editing was done afterwards. I've mainly been using this fic as an excuse to lash out emotionally, (hence me being drunk while writing it), so it has some stronger language and themes I wouldn't normally dabble in in my other works. It is written in 1st person, as a fair warning, in case you didn't see the tags. I know writing in 1st person is kind of taboo, but I felt that third person was much more difficult to write in for this, so yeah. If you can't stand 1st person, I'd suggest just skipping this fic altogether. 
> 
> I've basically only written for this fic when struggling irl, and since Covid-19 hit, everything has been slowly spiraling out of control for me. I won't get into details, but it all boils down to me being constantly stressed, overworked, and dealing with family problems at home. I've decided to post this first chapter tonight (at 1:00 am, no less) because I received news about my grandfather passing away yesterday morning, and really needed an outlet. 
> 
> For what it's worth, I hope that those of you who do decide to read this enjoy it. Updates will likely be sporadic, so I apologize in advance for long periods between chapters. At this point, y'all probably know that I can't follow a schedule to save my life anyway. But yeah, you're probably done with me talking and just want to read, so I'll let you get to it...

Falling in love is different for everyone, or so I’ve heard. Some people fall fast; for others, the fall is a slow tumble down into warm, waiting arms. Some people fall for their partner’s beautiful face, or god-like physique. Others find themselves captivated by soulful, wide eyes, or a rapturing smile. Love doesn’t look the same for any two people. I’ve heard it described as a dance, a blazing fire, and even a battlefield. But for me, love is none of these things. I didn’t fall in love with his face or body. I didn’t find myself swept up in a raging fire, or falling slowly down into strong, secure arms. I fell in love with Jaime Reyes’ voice, and for me, love is a song. 

It all started when my friend Cassie Sandsmark approached me with two tickets to see a Spanish-singing guitarist I’d never heard of before. At first, I thought it was a joke. See, Cassie works as a stagehand at a shitty little performance café where start-up high school bands and cover bands not good enough to hit-it-big regularly schedule hour-or-two-long gigs. As a bonus in addition to her pay, Cassie has free reign to attend whatever shows she wants, and is occasionally able to score extra tickets. Whenever she does, she invites me along, but I usually turn her down. A crowd of sweaty, gyrating bodies, overly-excited about mediocre music and even worse staging is not really my scene. I’m more of a comic book guy, but that’s beside the point. The important thing to note here, is that I did not actually say no to her that time. 

“I guess I’ll give it a try,” I said, “since it’s on a Friday night. But I don’t understand why you keep inviting me to these things. I can’t even speak Spanish!” 

Cassie whapped me in the back of the head with the ticket envelope. “Not all of the performers sing in Spanish. You’d know this if you came to more of the shows!” 

I argued back like I usually do. “And how many times have I told you that I’m not a music person? Spending an hour of my life every weekend listening to crappy cover bands isn’t my idea of a good time.” 

Cassie rolled her eyes. “Oh, but I suppose getting wasted and flirting your way into every gay college freshman’s pants _is_?” I could hear the disapproval dripping off of her tongue in a steady enough stream to create a puddle on the sidewalk. 

I folded my arms over my chest before giving my defense. “It’s not like there’s a whole lot of places an openly gay guy can go to pick up a date. Besides, you know for a fact that I’ve never slept with anyone I didn’t know first.” 

“And how does that always end up going for you? You and Tim are on pretty thin fucking ice right now, and Eduardo dumped your sorry ass after you stopped giving him the answers to your physics homework.” Cassie wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “As your best friend, I’m just looking out for you. A college frat party is _so_ not the place to pick up a good boyfriend.” 

I deflated as the weight of Cassie’s truths pushed down on me. Maybe she did have a point, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to be a petulant child about it. “So what? You expect me to pick up a guy at one of these concerts? One thing that you might not know about gay men, Cass, is that those of us who are out, aren’t exactly shy about it. I can guarantee you that no gay man is going to spend his time searching for a date in the crowd at a shitty, run-down performance café.” 

Cassie pushed the ticket envelope into my hands. “Just give it a try, okay?” 

Reluctantly, I accepted the envelope and shoved it into the pocket of my windbreaker. With a grumbled word of agreeance that I’d be at the next show, Cassie and I separated, heading opposite ways down the sidewalk. 

That night, when I got back home to my apartment (or rather, the apartment I’d been splitting the costs of with my roommate, Garfield), I flopped face-down on the couch in the living room and groaned. How had I let Cassie talk me into this? I knew the show would be a waste of my time, and an hour of my life I would never get back. None-the-less, I’d made a promise, and Bart Allen is not one who goes back on his word. 

The night of the show, I spent over half an hour rifling through my closet for a decent outfit. What the hell did people even wear to these things, anyway? 

“Hey, Gar!” I called, beckoning my roommate for an opinion. 

Within a few seconds, his spiky, green-haired head popped around the side of my door frame. Gar is a natural red-head, but he had bleached his hair after graduating from high school and for some odd reason, had the compulsion to frost the tips of his quiff neon green. 

“Which one is better?” I held up both of my options for him to see. The first was a simple white button up with the sleeves rolled up. I had planned on matching it with a pair of navy khakis and my pair of white Vans. My second choice was a salmon-colored shirt, red sweater, cream chinos, and some camp mocs. 

Gar compared the two outfits for a moment. “Go with number two. The sweater definitely screams ‘Gay Man Looking for a Good Time’.” 

I flipped him the bird as Gar ducked back around the door frame with a hyena cackle. I still ended up going with the sweater, anyway. It wasn’t like I had anyone to impress. I was just going to make Cassie happy. 

It was creeping up on nine o’clock when she finally arrived at the apartment to pick me up. Despite having a driver’s license, I didn’t actually own a car at the time. Everything had been within walking distance. When I did need to travel farther than a couple miles, public transportation was usually pretty accessible. Even then, if I had owned a car, I wouldn’t have driven myself to the show, anyway. Cassie had promised that there would be an open bar, and I fully intended on taking advantage of it. 

“Now, Bart,” you might say, “Underage drinking is irresponsible. How did you even plan on getting any drinks?” 

Well, that all boiled down to knowing the right people, and of course, my fake I.D., which I made sure was stashed carefully in my wallet before leaving. Ironically enough, Tim’s older brother had been the one to make it for me. Jason has always been of the mind that if you’re old enough to vote and serve in the military, then you’re old enough to enjoy the headache-induced vomiting that results from a night of heavy drinking. I have to say, I’m much of the same mind. Then again, there are some things Jason does that I have no interest being involved in. Underage drinking is one thing, but start adding sketchy-looking drugs to the mix and I’m out. I’m honestly just glad Tim has never been involved in any of it. Sure, he has a fake I.D. like I do, but that’s as far as he’s gotten involved in his brother’s illegal dealings. Despite our falling-out, I have to admit that I still worry about Tim a great deal. 

Tim and I have been friends since we were kids. When I was in kindergarten, and he was in first grade, his dad and my grandparents made the life-changing decision to move into houses that were right across the street from one another. Tim and I naturally became instant playmates. On weekends, both of us could be caught running up and down the street in a game of two-person tag, or tossing a cheap foam football back and forth. Occasionally, some of Tim’s siblings would join in, which is how I really got to know Jason, but most days, it was just the two of us. Throughout the rest of middle school and high school, Tim and I continued to hang out on weekends, and even ran across the street to one another’s houses during the week to complete homework assignments together. It was only after starting college that we had our falling out. 

It had been the first frat party of the year, and our mutual friend Conner (who was a part of the Alpha-Lambda-Phi house hosting the party) had been our ticket in. Now, I’ve never been a shy dude, but like I said before, crowds of sweaty, gyrating bodies are not really my scene, so I was stuck hanging around the edges of the room with a red solo in my hand, scowling at anyone who came close enough to me that they risked spilling my drink. Tim, on the other hand, is a far cry from being a people-person, so he was completely out of his element. He’d spent the first half hour of the party following Conner around, and when Conner eventually got tired of having to chaperone poor Tim, dumped him off at the punch bowl in favor of dancing with his girlfriend, Megan. Within an hour, Tim had made best friends with the drinks cooler, and had a notable sway to his usually steady saunter. By the time everyone was sufficiently tipsy, and equally stupid, Tim staggered over to me, and admitted that he’d always been curious about gay sex and what it felt like. Being the only gay guy Tim actually knows, I had apparently been a perfect candidate for his sexual experiment. Had I not just broken things off with my last boyfriend, and been drunk off my ass, I would have fiercely turned him down. Needless to say, the next morning was not a pretty one. Tim had discovered that he was in fact, not bisexual as he’d suspected he might be, and I had gotten left with the feeling of being used (again). 

Since then, him and I have barely spoken to one another. Cassie keeps trying to get us to talk it out and make amends, being that I’m her best friend, and she is currently dating Tim (both of us are actually really fucking lucky she forgave us, considering she and Tim had been together since before this disaster had happened), but I don’t know if I’m ready to delve back into the mess that night had turned into. Despite that, I really don’t want to throw away fifteen years of friendship, either. I still find myself asking Cassie how Tim’s doing, and worrying about him getting mixed up in his older brother’s bullshit. I just hope that someday either he or I will have the balls to start the conversation. I’m kind of starting to miss him. 

Getting back on track though… Cassie and I ended up arriving at the café about ten minutes before the show was set to start. After walking in, and directing me to where I was supposed to stand for the performance, Cassie abandoned me to chat with some of her stagehand friends from work. Shrugging it off as Cassie just being a social butterfly, I immediately went over to the bar to grab myself a drink. If I had to sit through an hour of Spanish gibberish from some douche bag with a guitar, I was going to need something strong. 

“Can I get a Fish Bowl, please?” 

As expected, the bartender asked to see my I.D., and it worked perfectly. Jason might not have the most good-moraled nature, but he always puts forth a hundred percent effort into all of his projects. If he’s helping minors acquire addictive substances against the law, he at least wants to help them do it without getting caught. 

I watched the bartender pour my drink, and then accepted it with a smile as I laid a twenty down on the wooden bench. I know most people keep running tabs at these types of things, but I’ve never been too fond of them, especially using a fake I.D. Most bartenders are okay with you just throwing cash at them, as long as you have enough to cover the full costs. 

As I meshed back into the crowd, I held my fruity blue drink above my head to avoid spilling any of my precious liquid courage. And for anyone about to criticize me (or any other guy for that matter) for buying a colored cocktail, you can fuck right off. Fish Bowls will always be among my drinks of choice for three distinct reasons. 1) they come in larger than your typical glass, meaning more alcohol for close to the same price, 2) they actually have a flavor besides make-your-eyes-water-burn-your-throat-on-the-way-down, and 3) they contain more than one kind of alcohol. That being said, two or three drinks and I would be in a relatively happy place, despite being dragged somewhere I didn’t originally want to be. 

When the lights went down signalling the start of the show, Cassie slipped through the crowd of mostly Hispanic women (in fact, she and I were the only Caucasian people in the crowd, and I was the only man) to take her place next to me at the back. A few bright stage lights flicked on, creating a circle of fluorescence in the middle of the stage, where the red curtain was parting to reveal a four-legged wooden stool and microphone. After a few moments of quiet chatter from the anticipating crowd, a surprisingly young Hispanic man carrying a guitar walked out from around the right side of the curtain and took a seat on the stool, propping the acoustic up on one knee, and plucking the microphone from the stand with his hands. Immediately all of the noise stopped and everyone turned their attention to the man on stage. 

“Hola,” he said, and if I wasn’t mistaken, he sounded a little timid. It was odd for a performer. In my mind, I’d always stereotyped musicians and actors as flashy people who drank up the limelight, and lived for having everyone’s eyes constantly glued to them. This guy, upon simply walking on stage with his slumped shoulders and ducked head, and voicing his shy greeting, had debunked my mental image in one fell swoop. 

“Me llamo Jaime Reyes, y antes de cantar para ti esta noche, quiero agradecerte por venir. Es un placer actuar para ti.” Despite not being able to tell what he was saying, the genuineness in his tone surprised me. Everything about this guy, including his posture screamed humble and polite. Definitely NOT the picture I’d had in my mind when Cassie had pushed the tickets into my hand the day prior. 

Even his outfit was simple. A crisp, blue button up shirt was tucked into a pair of dark wash jeans, and shiny, stylish black boots were resting calmly on the wooden support rods. His raven hair had been neatly combed and gelled. The guitar resting on his right knee was a classic Gibson acoustic that you could pick up at any music store. Nothing about this guy even remotely suggested that he wanted any of the attention being laved upon him by the swooning Latinas in the front row. 

“Mi primera canción se llama ‘Matándome Suavemente’.” 

A cheer went up from the crowd as the man affixed the microphone back to its stand and straightened his posture so he could properly handle the guitar. He took a deep breath and then strummed the first note, relaxing as he continued to gingerly pick at the strings, eliciting a soft melody from the belly of the wooden instrument. His eyes closed, long, caramel fingers moving flawlessly along the strings with a practiced ease, as he swayed gently with the music. It was clear that he was very in tune with his auditory sense, because there was no hesitance or stunted movement at all to his playing. It was like watching rain run down your window panes, or a swan gliding across a pond; relaxingly soothing, and mesmerizing. 

The only thing that shocked me more that night was when he finally opened his mouth and started singing. 

“Tocame un vals con sus dedos / Pinta de azul mi canción / Matame muy suavemente / Con sus palabras, rosando / Muy lentamente, mis labios / Hasta perderme, matame…” 

By the end of the opening, I was stunned. Never before had I heard a more beautiful voice in my life. Even now, trying to describe it in words comes nowhere close to how euphonious his voice is. It was like being sung to by a legitimate angel. I could not believe the sounds even coming from his lips were human, they were so soul-penetrating. The inflection of his tenor voice, and the amount of raw emotion he had poured into the opening verses nearly had me in tears, and I am not one who cries easily. He was moving me with his song, and he hadn’t even gotten into the chorus yet. 

I spared a glance over at Cassie. She was engaged, with her crystalline blue eyes up on the stage, but what I couldn’t comprehend was her complete lack of awed expression. It was clear that she was enjoying the performance, but she had not even come close to being moved to the earth-shattering degree that I had been. 

I returned my gaze up to the stage. The heat of the light filtering down upon the angelic man had caused a sheen of sweat to break out across his face, making his skin glow. His eyes were still closed, dark lashes casting shadows over his sculpted cheekbones, and his head was raised towards the ceiling, the hard lines of his jaw, and sweeping column of his neck on full display. It was almost as if he were enraptured by the same spell he had cast on me with his lyrics.

“Yo vi mientras cantaba / Al fondo del salón / Sintiendo de repente / En mi alma un gran temor / Narraba con tonadas / Mi vida en su canción...” 

By the bridge, my knees were notably more shaky than they had been, and it had nothing to do with the alcohol in my hand. I couldn’t even understand the lyrics, yet emotions I didn’t even know I possessed were being stirred up within me by his song. The ones I could identify were deep longing, a desire for some kind of connection, a panging so intense and painful within your chest that you can’t help crying out. It was tearing at my heartstrings in ways I’d never experienced before, and my body felt numb, and empty, at the same time it felt full to the point of overflowing. 

“Tocame un vals con sus dedos / Pinta de azul mi canción / Matame muy suavemente / Con sus palabras, rosando / Muy lentamente, mis labios / Hasta perderme, matame…” 

By the chorus, there were definitely tears running down my face. To this day, I still don’t know how I had been moved so quickly by his song. No performance, event, or sad movie had ever managed to evoke as much of a response from me as quickly. It was embarrassing how much I was shaking. Thank God it was dark where I was standing, because if Cassie had seen me break down like I had, I never would have heard the end of it. As it was, I’m still not completely convinced she didn’t catch on to what was happening. 

I raised my free hand up and attempted to wipe away the tears obscuring my vision, but as soon as I could see again, his words flipped the switch on the waterworks behind my eyes, and I was crying again. 

I tried to keep my voice steady as I held out my drink to Cassie. “Can you hold this? Bathroom,” was all I was able to get out before my throat closed up with a pent up sob I struggled to hold back. 

As swiftly as I could, I pushed my way through the crowd, and emerged with a gasping breath, hunting for the glowing bathroom sign just past the stage. I practically sprinted towards it, once my eyes finally locked onto it. The sound of the door slamming behind me, and the deadbolt clicking into place did not manage to drown out the sounds coming from on stage. 

“Sentí faltarme el aire / Buscando la razón / Temí que había encontrado / Mis cartas del cajón / Leyendo fué muy claro / Desnuda en su canción…” 

I slid down against the interior of the bathroom door with my head in my hands, shoulders shaking beyond my control, and legs too wobbly to support my weight anymore. Distorted by the thin walls, his voice sounded like a siren song, beckoning to me, promising me my heart’s greatest desires if only I gave in and took the perilous swim. But like all sailors drawn in by the tantalizing voices of Aglaope and her sisters, I had never expected to drown. 

“Tocame un vals con sus dedos / Pinta de azul mi canción / Matame muy suavemente / Con sus palabras, rosando / Muy lentamente, mis labios / Hasta perderme, matame…” 

When he was finally done singing, and was strumming out the final chords of the song, I tried to collect myself. With the rolling, smooth-sung syllables still swirling around in my head however, I found it near impossible. His voice had caught me completely off guard, and left me a mess in the aftermath. It was like the chorus was imprinted on the inside of my skull. I could remember it word for word. I wanted to know what it meant. There was some part of me that would not be satisfied until I could get the translation to the lyrics. What words had moved me so fiercely? 

It was halfway through the next song (much faster paced and upbeat, though no less beautiful) that I was finally able to calm myself down enough that my brain could get the signal to my legs to stand up. I cleaned my face with a paper towel and cool water from the sink, hoping that I could prevent the tear tracks from showing up on my fair skin and giving me away. I took a few deep breaths and resolutely exited the restroom, set on rejoining the crowd. 

When I made it back to Cassie, she immediately leveled me with a concerned look. “Are you okay? You were gone a long time.” 

I hastily waved her off, trying to get into the movements of the new song. All of the women around us were clapping to the fast-paced rhythm, and laughter set the undertone as the notes were plucked from the strings of the guitar with gusto. When I looked up at the stage, the young Hispanic man had a blinding smile on his face, and his sienna eyes were scanning the crowd, sharing in the positive vibes that were now pulsing through the room. 

How he could go from performing a soul-crushing song to this jovial dance-like music was baffling. Yet again I was being surprised by this atypical musician. 

“Hey, Cass,” I asked. A particular question had been burning in the back of my mind ever since the man had first walked out on stage. “What did he say his name was?” 

Cassie turned her head in my direction and laughed. “You should have paid more attention, dummy. He introduced himself before he started playing.” 

I crossed my arms and pouted. I knew he had said his name at some point, but my brain had accidentally tuned it out in the confusion of trying to decipher what he was actually saying. 

“I know that,” I said back, stubbornly. “I don’t speak Spanish.” 

Cassie rolled her eyes, but gave me his name anyway. “Jaime Reyes.” 

_Jaime. Jaime. Jaime._ His name bounced around my head like a ping-pong ball rebounding between paddle and table in a long rally. _Jaime Reyes._ Now that I had his name, I knew I would never forget it. 

My mind continued to whir as I idly clapped along to the song. My eyes followed the movements of Jaime’s fingers across the strings of his guitar. I wondered where he learned to play like that. There was a flawless grace with which he plucked the strings, and then smoothed them out again with firm strokes of his pick. 

“Hey, Cassie,” I found myself asking her again, “That first song that he sung, ‘Matándome Suavemente’,” and _God_ , the butchered way the words came out of my mouth sounded like a curse compared to the flawless roll of them off of Jaime’s tongue, “Do you know what the lyrics mean?” 

Cassie’s blonde brows scrunched up in confusion. “I don’t speak Spanish, either.” I thought that was the end of her answer, but just when I was redirecting my attention back to Jaime’s performance, she sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s the first song he sings every time he performs. The rest are always different, but he always starts with that one.” 

I gave a thoughtful hum. It made sense. That song had gotten me hooked on Jaime’s voice. If he wanted the crowd to pay attention to him, performing that song was definitely the way to do it. Despite his second song not being nearly as emotion-evoking, I could still deeply appreciate the way his voice perfectly carried the pitch of the happy lyrics. Jaime really was a talented singer and player, and this little performance café was definitely not the right place for him to be displaying such skill. He should have been standing on the huge stage of a theater with millions of spectators among the crowd; not sweating under the harsh fluorescence of cheap light bulbs in the presence of a mere fifty sloppily-dressed college students. 

My eyes swept across the stage again, and a gasp escaped my throat as Jaime’s swirling sepia eyes locked onto mine. Unlike the brief one-second type of eye contact he had been making with the Latinas in the front row, Jaime’s eyes stayed staring into my own. I could feel my cheeks starting to burn with the attention. He had been gazing at me for so long that heads in the crowd were beginning to turn, looking for the source that had their favorite performer so distracted. 

Eventually I couldn’t take it anymore, and shifted my eyes off to the side, breaking the spell. If my cheeks had been white instead of red, I could have been another one of the stage lights with the amount of heat I could feel radiating from them. 

I risked flicking my gaze back up to the stage. Jaime was back to his sweeping routine again, chocolate eyes making brief contact with different people in the audience. Although, when I observed his face again, his smile was a tad less bright than it had been before. Was he… disappointed… that I had looked away? 

Unfortunately, I didn’t have a lot of time to ponder the question, before Jaime was launching into his last song. Like the second one had been, this one carried an upbeat type of tune that I definitely would associate with Spanish dance-music. 

A boisterous cry of approval rang from the crowd. Apparently this song was a favorite. The women in the crowd immediately paired up and began dancing, causing chaotic breaks in the mosh of people. Even Cassie, who has not a lick of Spanish heritage in her, was bouncing on her toes and snapping in time with the sound of Jaime’s boots tapping against the rods of the stool he was seated on, and the footfalls of the spinning women around us. 

Even with my very limited knowledge of the language, I could recognize one word that Jaime kept singing over and over. “Bailando.” ‘To dance’, or ‘dancing’. He was egging the crowd on. 

A few verses in, Cassie grabbed me by the forearms and shouted, “Dance with me!” over the laughter and singing coming from everyone else. 

I looked around me. Not a single person was stationary. With a good-natured sigh, I gave in. I was actually kind of glad she had forced me to go to this. The least I could do was dance with her in return. 

Cassie laughed as I turned to face her and grabbed onto her hands, beginning to gently swing them between us. She returned the effort by doing a funny little shoulder shimmy that got me laughing in return. As we really began getting into it, both of us started swaying our hips, doing a quick little two-step back and forth in time with everyone else around us. At one point, I let go of one of Cassie’s hands to spin her around, and couldn’t help feeling elated. Cassie was right; this was way better than any of the dozens of fraternity parties I had been to. Nobody had danced like this. I didn’t feel the need to hug the edge of the room, or drown myself in alcohol in order to cut loose. Everyone in the crowd was having a good time, and I couldn’t help being infected by the mood. 

When the song was over, I actually found myself disappointed. Despite my initial judgement, I had actually had a good time. Jaime had moved me with his soul-crushing lyrics, only to pick me right back up afterwards with a silly, let-loose dance song. I wanted to know when his next performance was. 

When the lights came back up, the crowd was cheering, and Jaime was back to the same timid stature he had walked onto the stage with. The seeming rush of confidence he had had while playing had run out, and he took a shy bow, a slight blush staining his cheeks. He gripped onto the microphone stand with both hands and uttered a soft-spoken, “Gracias,” into it as the girls in the front row continued to shriek their appreciation. It took some harsh shushing from some of the other women behind them before it was quiet enough for Jaime to continue speaking. 

“Fue divertido actuar para ti esta noche. Espero que me vuelvas a tener alguna vez.” He took one more quick bow before grabbing up his guitar and walking off the stage, to more delighted shouting. 

After a few minutes, people began leaving the café, the crowd thinning out and revealing the mess that had been left in their wake. 

“Glad I’m not working tonight,” Cassie murmured with a smile. She turned to me and asked, “So what did you think?” 

“It was good.” I found myself uncharacteristically bashful. I was at loss for how to describe my actual feelings about Jaime’s performance. The only thing that I knew for sure was that I wanted to see another one. “When does he perform again?” 

“Ah!” Cassie pointed a knowing finger at me. “I told you it would be fun!” 

I gave a one-shouldered shrug. I wasn’t going to give her verbal affirmation that she was right. The shock I had experienced tonight, and the way my emotions were still trying to play pachinko inside of me was already enough to deal with without acknowledging the hit to my ego. 

“You liked him?” my friend asked me. 

“He’s very talented.” I nodded my head. 

“But is that _all_ you liked about him?” The shit-eating smirk on her face blatantly gave away what her question was insinuating. 

I found myself blushing against my will. 

“Aha! I knew it! I know your type, Bart!” 

My auburn brows arched in confusion. “‘My type’?” I asked, feeling slightly affronted. 

Cassie nodded eagerly. “You, Bart Allen, have a type. Dark hair, deep brown eyes, Hispanic descent…” she trailed off, that annoying smirk still firmly in place on her lips. 

I scowled at her, crossing my arms defensively over my sweater-clad chest. “That’s racist to say, y’know.” 

Cassie gave a challenging scoff. “You can’t deny it.” And fuck, yeah, she had me there. All of my boyfriends in the past had at least vaguely matched the description she’d tossed out. But in my defense, it’s not like other people don’t have a type. Maybe I find Spanish guys sexy? There’s nothing wrong with it, but Cassie pointing it out certainly didn’t make it any less embarrassing. 

“You think he’s cute, don’t you?” Unfortunately, it did not seem like Cassie would give me a reprieve from her teasing. 

“So did all of the women in the front row,” I replied, indifferently. What difference did it make, anyway? There was no way in hell a musical prodigy like Jaime Reyes would ever even consider dating a jaded college freshman like me. 

Cassie wrapped a reassuring arm around my shoulders. “He usually performs every couple of weeks. I can see if I can score some tickets to his next performance if you want to come?” She let the offer hang. 

“That would be pretty crash,” I accepted. 

Cassie laughed at my use of the frat boy slang. I had picked it up after going to so many of those parties and couldn’t shake the habit of using it, even after the word had gone out of common usage. 

“I’ll see what I can do.” 

We hung around the venue until it was empty and just a few stagehands were left behind sweeping up the mess. Cassie quickly went around and said goodbyes to her coworkers before joining me again so we could leave. On the drive back to my apartment, we put down the top of Cassie’s white BMW convertible. It was an old car that had been passed down to her from her sister Donna, but it was well-taken care of, and extremely comfortable. 

When we pulled up in front of my apartment complex, Cass and I spent a few minutes sitting in silence with the moonlight beaming down on us. 

“I had fun tonight,” I said, after awhile. “Thank you for taking me.” I leaned over the center console between us to wrap her up in a quick hug before I got out of the car and shut the door behind me. 

“I’ll see what I can do about scoring some more tickets,” Cassie promised. 

I smiled. “Looking forward to it.” 

I watched as she drove away, heading in the direction of her own home before quietly climbing the stairs to mine and Gar’s flat. I knew he would probably be asleep, and tried not to wake him as I let myself in. I carefully navigated my way to my room through the dark, and flopped down on my bed. Despite knowing it was a bad habit, I ended up falling asleep in my clothes. 

My dreams that night were filled with an angelic voice and the harmonious notes of an acoustic guitar. 


	2. Lost in Translation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bart attends another of Jaime's performances at the café. Will he get the answers he's been searching for, or will everything remain lost in translation?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is the second chapter, surprisingly not too long after I posted the first. I've actually fallen in love with this AU I've created, and now have a whole playlist dedicated to the cause. Since this fic is about music, I can guarantee that nearly every chapter will have some kind of song lyrics or references sprinkled throughout. 
> 
> Since posting the first chapter, I've been churning out writing for this fic like mad, and have an entire outline planned out for this. Still not quite sure how many chapters it'll end up being, since I'm indecisive af, and change my mind constantly when I'm writing, but hopefully I'll actually be able to finish this within a reasonable amount of time. Then I can resume work on my other wips. 
> 
> But for now, I hope y'all enjoy this chapter.

Like Cassie promised, she did eventually get more tickets to see Jaime at the performance café. In the five weeks that had passed since seeing him play that night, I had skipped out on three fraternity parties that I otherwise would have gone to. Something about Jaime’s performance that night changed me. I felt more in tune with myself; less reckless. Getting drunk to drown out the people around me, and for the courage to flirt with other boys no longer held the same appeal. I didn’t feel as desperate to prove myself, or try to fit in. 

Five weeks down the line and I could still remember the lyrics of Jaime’s song word for word. One day, Gar had even caught me humming the same tune Jaime had strummed out on his guitar. I still had no idea what any of it meant. I’d tried writing down the lyrics at one point, but with my limited Spanish knowledge, I’m sure I spelled the majority of them wrong. I couldn’t even replicate the words out loud. My numb, uncultured tongue refused to form the syllables the right way, and every attempt only ended up sounding worse than the previous. All I had to go on was the soundtrack of Jaime’s melodic voice in my head, stuck on endless repeat. 

The day Cassie managed to obtain the tickets, she’d sent me a text from work saying, ‘ **Guess what i got 4 u?! XD** ’. 

My reply back was, ‘ **Bitch, u better not b joking** ,’ and though my tone was playful, my actual message was not. By that point, I was desperate to see Jaime perform again. His voice, and music, and lyrics stuck in my head were driving me insane. I HAD to know what it meant. 

It had gotten so bad to the point that I’d literally sat down with a Spanish-English dictionary and attempted to translate what I could remember word-for-word. Of course, I’d only been able to find a handful of what I thought were the right words, and without the rest of the translation, they meant little to nothing. Google Translate gave me about as much luck. I knew that the only way I would ever get the answers was if I could ask Jaime myself. 

“No fucking way,” were the words out of my mouth when Cassie handed me a ticket and backstage pass the afternoon before the concert. 

“You have no idea how hard that was to get,” she said, tapping my VIP pass with a red fingernail. “He never interacts with anyone backstage. The only person I’ve ever seen him talk to is the show manager.” 

I rubbed the laminated card between my fingers.  _ This _ would be my chance. 

“Thank you.” I quickly wrapped Cassie in a hug. I tried to tone down just how grateful I was, because I knew it would only earn me teasing, but the backstage pass was the greatest gift she could have given me. 

“Do you want me to pick you up again?” she asked me when we separated. 

I gave her a pleading look without actually saying the words. 

She laughed. “I’ll swing by again at nine.” 

Picking out an outfit that night was even harder than picking out what I’d worn to the first performance. I actually had an idea of what people wore to these things now, and even though I didn’t have to dress to the nines or anything, I still had a compulsion to pick out something nice. I didn’t want to look sloppy in front of Jaime, especially if I was getting a chance to ask him the questions that had been burning in my mind for the last month and a half. Some part of me wanted to impress him, and make him remember who I was. 

Two hours in front of my closet hadn’t provided me the clarity I needed. An array of button-ups, sweaters, jackets, jeans, khakis, and chinos were laid out on my mattress in a fashion disaster. Usually, I pride myself for having pretty good taste in clothing, but that day, I could not for the life of me decide what to wear. 

I only had about an hour before Cassie would be over. There was no way I would be able to make a decision on my own. I needed some advice. Unfortunately for me, my roommate was out somewhere with his girlfriend, Perdita, which meant I would have to reach out to someone via text. 

I scrolled through my contacts with a sigh. Conner was immediately out because despite his actually impressive fashion sense, I hadn’t shown up to the last three frat parties he’d invited me to. Awkward. My cousin Wally was also a bad option. Despite his support for me and my sexuality, he liked to tease like there was no tomorrow. Not to mention, his taste in clothing was reduced to baggy long sleeves and flannels. My last option was Tim. He actually is one of the sharpest dressers I know. On the other hand, we haven’t spoken to each other in several months. Starting a conversation with him would not be a wise decision, especially over something as trivial as my outfit. 

I weighed my options. Time was running out for me to get ready. I still didn’t have an outfit. Tim could help me. It wouldn’t be my first choice to talk to him, but he was, unfortunately, my  _ only _ choice. Sucking up some courage, and tromping down my ego, I sent him a quick text. 

‘ **Fashion emergency. Send help** ’. 

It would go one of two ways. A) Tim would see my message, put aside any negative feelings and respond, or B) Tim would see my message, be reminded of everything that had happened and ignore me. I suppose there was a possibility C) Tim wouldn’t see my message, but it was the least probable outcome. Tim is nothing if not prudent. He always responds to his texts, voicemails, and emails in a timely manner. If you don’t get a response back from him within a day, you know he’s pointedly ignoring you. 

I held my breath. It was a Friday, so I knew Tim wouldn’t be doing anything too important, especially this late, so he would definitely see my message. Whether he would respond or not was fifty-fifty. 

I paced back and forth across my room, precious minutes ticking by. At that point, I wasn’t even sure whether or not I would be ready to go by the time Cassie got to the apartment to pick me up. I  _ really _ needed Tim to respond. 

When my phone buzzed in my hand, I was so startled, I nearly dropped it. 

‘ **Leaving now. B @ ur’s in 30** ,’ from Cassie. 

I buried my face in my hands, dropping my phone on my bed in defeat. There was no way I’d be ready in time. 

With a deep sigh, I resigned myself to gathering up the clothes I’d laid out, ready to hang them back in the closet. I would just have to tell Cassie that I couldn’t go. 

In the process of wrapping the hook of the first plastic hanger around the rod in my closet, my phone buzzed with a second message. Dropping the rest of the pile back onto the foot of the mattress, I reached for my phone and slid my thumb across the screen, unlocking it with a gasp of surprise. Tim had actually responded back. 

‘ **You can’t dress yourself?** ’ The response might have sounded insulting or unnecessarily harsh to anyone else, but I know Tim. The three S’s are his weapons of choice: sarcasm, snark, and sass. This was actually a pretty cordial response, given the shitshow our relationship with one another had become. 

‘ **Can’t decide** ,’ I texted back. ‘ **Short on time.** ’ 

‘ **Options.** ’ Tim had used a period rather than a question mark because if he had been there in person, it would have been a demand. 

I laid the spread of clothes back out on my bed, and then snapped a picture. 

‘ **Where are you going?** ’ Tim texted me. I suppose context would have been important. 

‘ **Performance café w/ Cass.** ’ 

It took a minute before Tim replied. ‘ **Purple sweater. Black skinnies. Shoes?** ’ 

I sent him another photo of the line of shoes pressed up against the baseboard next to my bedroom door, followed up with this text: ‘ **It’s indigo. But thx.** ’ 

While waiting for Tim’s next message to come through, I shucked off the shirt I had been wearing and quickly replaced it with the sweater, and then switched out my jeans. The sweater was a little big, but not overly so, with a v-neck cut just low enough to show off the angles of my collarbones. The black skinny jeans on the other hand, hugged my legs and ass tight, putting both on display for anyone bold enough to look. 

Once I was dressed, I snatched my phone back up from where it had fallen, and scanned Tim’s text. 

‘ **Brown oxfords.** ’ Followed up with, ‘ **You’re welcome.** ’ 

Gratefully, I slipped into the leather shoes, and then pocketed my phone, along with my wallet and keys, which I swiped from the top of my bedside table. I sprinted the three steps across the hall to the bathroom, and gave myself a quick once-over in the mirror. I didn’t have much time left to do anything with my hair, so I supposed ‘attractively messy’ would have to suffice. I was debating cologne when my phone buzzed with a message from Cassie, saying she was outside. 

As I was taking the concrete steps from my apartment down to the street, Cassie waved to me, and I noticed her eyes quickly scanning me over. When I got to her car, she kindly complimented me with, “You look cute.” 

I don’t know what it is about Cassie, but she has an innate ability to sense when people around her are lacking confidence. She gives a lot of encouraging speeches, and supportive words, and never fails to reassure people when they’re doubting themselves. It’s not often that I question my looks or charm, but that day, I really appreciated the compliment. 

We drove with the top of the convertible down, the breeze windsweeping my hair, and tangling Cassie’s into a blonde mess, which she spent five minutes in the parking lot of the café combing out with her fingers and a few curses. After checking her makeup in the metallic visor mirror, Cassie seemed satisfied with her own appearance, and we exited the car. 

One of Cassie’s coworkers took our tickets at the entrance, and Cassie and I found our place at the back of the crowd like we had last time. When I checked my phone, the time said we had about fifteen minutes until the show would start. I couldn’t help feeling a little anxious. I would get to see Jaime perform ‘Matándome Suavemente’ again, and then afterwards, I would get to formally meet him. 

Cassie must have sensed my fervent energy, because she asked me, “Are you excited?” 

I nodded my head in response. I had had the most fun I could ever remember having in my life at Jaime’s last show, and I was ready for another. 

I found myself slowly counting down the seconds as we waited for the show to start. It was the only productive way I could think of to calm my nervous energy and racing thoughts. My entire body was like a live wire, sparking with excitability. I’d experienced the emotional whirlwind of Jaime’s first show; the ups and downs, and soul-searching connection to the music. Now my body was mentally and physically preparing itself for a repeat. 

When the lights over the crowd finally dimmed, and the stage lights came on, I forced myself to go still. The curtains swished softly as they parted; something I could hear even over the cheering of all the women in front of me, I was so keyed-up. I held my breath. 

Jaime waved shyly as he shuffled on stage, clutching the frets of his guitar tightly with his left hand. He settled on the stool in the center of the stage, carefully leaning the acoustic against one wooden rod, and one long, jean-clad leg, as his hands reached for the microphone. 

“Buenas noches,” he started. Jaime then swiftly transitioned to the same opening and introduction he had given last time. 

“Mi primera canción se llama ‘Matándome Suavemente’.” The title cascaded from Jaime’s tongue like smooth flowing water, and I felt myself leaning forward in anticipation of a refreshing, rejuvenating drink. 

The first chords struck me hard, reverberating against my eardrums like the soundwaves disseminating from a gong. I could feel the vibrations throughout my body, swaying with them, as Jaime steadily picked the notes from the strings of his guitar. Before hearing him for the first time, I’d never deemed myself a music person, much less someone who would enjoy the soft, thrumming sound of the acoustic guitar, but Jaime’s music opened my ears, and it was like listening, and actually being able to  _ hear _ for the first time. 

When the familiar words that had been playing on repeat in my head for the past five weeks were finally verbalized, I found myself mouthing along, trying to physically  _ feel _ the lyrics; how they curled my lips, buzzed my tongue, and stole the breath from my throat. I couldn’t imagine I was saying the words accurately, or even coming close to doing the beautifully spoken Spanish language justice with my poor gringo tongue, but the raw, guttural motions of forming the lyrics and the energy it took was like pouring my soul out in an unforgiving torrent of emotion. 

Actually describing how the lyrics were supposed to sound (as in, how Jaime made them sound) is like trying to explain the concept of a black hole; a breathtaking, unfathomable force that unrelentingly draws you in. The closest I can come to capturing the euphony of his voice is a disjointed staccato of words and metaphors. Sweet, smooth, and thick, like drizzled honey; light, airy, throaty, and husky, like sandpaper whispering against concrete; trilling, rolling, warbling, like a cicada’s chirp amongst the trees in summer; and sharp, rich, and bittersweet, like snapping the corner off a bar of dark chocolate. 

Before becoming consciously aware of it, tears were streaming down my face (this time more of a soft, silent, trembly type of crying compared to the mess I’d been the first time), and my eyelids had closed in an attempt to prevent the spillage. My hands were clasped to my chest, over my rapidly beating heart, and I couldn’t help believing that my heartstrings were the ones Jaime was really strumming, rather than the metallic ones wrapped tight around the pegs and bridge of his guitar. 

When he reached the chorus for the first time, I risked opening my eyes, and was surprised to see that Jaime had at some point, decided to stand up, guitar strap over one broad shoulder, and his right thigh flexing and relaxing over and over as he tapped his foot in time with each measure. The stage lights had been adjusted to shine down directly on his face, which was beaded with a sheen of sweat already, and consequently cast shadows across his features, showcasing just how chiseled they really were. It was almost as though he had been carved from stone; a beauty to be marveled at for eternity. 

His white teeth glinted as he smiled, and there was a spark behind his sepia irises, clearly showing that he was enjoying playing, even if he didn’t particularly enjoy the attention (something I’d theorized about after watching him the first time). He was making an effort to connect with his audience though, as his gentle gaze slowly swept across the crowd, careful not to hold anyone’s eye for too long. That was until he happened to catch my beryl orbs. 

Something within Jaime’s eyes changed in that moment, almost as if he had gained some kind of new determination, before they shifted away again. He utilized his long legs to cross the stage in four quick strides, before carefully taking the side steps down to stand on an equal level with all of us in the crowd. Immediately, necks snapped to turn their owner’s heads towards him as Jaime slowly walked along the edge of the group, stage lights following him, never leaving him unilluminated for more than a second at a time. 

He was nearing the second iteration of the chorus when he finally reached the back of the crowd. Jaime paused there for a moment, finishing out his verse with an echoing “canción” (he’d had to raise his voice after leaving the microphone up on stage, but surprisingly the café’s concrete walls carried the soundwaves pretty well). Then he stopped playing. He raised both hands, relying on his guitar strap to hold the instrument in place, before making a parting gesture, indicating that he wanted to enter the crowd. With excited murmurs, everyone hastily made an effort to comply with Jaime’s wishes, shuffling to create a path wide enough for him. 

Cassie and I took a few steps back, flattening ourselves against the wall like everyone else in the last row, while the ladies in front of us stepped forward and spun around, not wanting to take their own eyes off of the young prodigy for even a second. 

When a path had effectively been created, Jaime gave a shy smile and said, “Ustedes son asombrosos,” before beginning to play again. He strummed out the first few chords as he made his way forward, careful to avoid bumping anyone in the crowd with his guitar (there seemed to be a silent agreement between Jaime and everyone else that it was okay to look, but NOT to touch), before coming to a stand still directly in front of me. 

A breathless gasp escaped my throat. My teary eyes widened to the size of silver dollars. I could  _ feel _ the jealous stares of everyone else on me, and the heat in my cheeks was probably enough to put even Hell to shame. My focus zeroed in on Jaime, and Jaime alone. His sorrel eyes stared right back into my own, and it was like he was looking through me, seeing past my exterior and into the most vulnerable parts of me. I’d always thought that saying ‘the eyes are the windows to the soul’ was a load of bullshit, but with Jaime looking at me like that, there was no better metaphor. 

“Tocame un vals con sus dedos / Pinta de azul mi canción / Matame muy suavemente / Con sus palabras, rosando / Muy lentamente, mis labios / Hasta perderme, matame…” The lyrics pierced me to my core. Everything else around me faded away. My ears could only hear his voice, and my vision was reduced to a tunnel, with Jaime as the shining light at the end. 

A nudge to the ribs from Cassie’s elbow was the trigger that snapped me back to awareness. “He wants you to take it,” her voice hissed in my ear. 

I blinked hard, tearing my gaze away from Jaime’s face and resetting it to about waist-level, where his hand was outstretched, a black, plastic guitar pick clasped between his thumb and forefinger. With my face blazing to about the same color as my hair, I shakily raised my hand to Jaime’s and took hold of the curved edge of the pick. When he let go, I nearly dropped it, my fingers were trembling so badly. I couldn’t believe that out of ALL of the people present at his performance that night, he had singled ME out. Why was I so special? What had I done to gain his attention?

Once the pick was out of his hand and in mine, Jaime flashed me a heart-stopping smile and returned to strumming his guitar, this time with the bare pad of his thumb, before turning and beginning to make his way back out of the crowd. Despite the stage lights continuing to follow him, the majority of the eyes in the audience did not. I could feel the burning stares of jealousy boring into me, and the heated whispers stirring up a whirlwind of sound over the finishing notes of Jaime’s song. From what I could gather, Jaime coming down into the crowd to give away little mementos to his fans was not a common occurrence. 

“I’ve never seen him do that before,” Cassie confirmed. A beat, and then she was squealing. “OMG, Bart! Do you know what this means?!” 

“Yes, Cassie,” I felt like saying, “I do have a pretty good idea of what it means,” (after all, I have flirted with enough boys on my own to know what the signs of being hit on look like), but my tongue failed me. Never in my life have I been at such a loss for words. 

Singling me out (especially as the only man) from a crowd of just over fifty people was a massive power move from someone so shy and timid. I’d watched Jaime walk on and off stage three times now, with his shoulders hunched, and eyes turned down towards the rubber-coated metal beneath his feet as he shuffled from behind the curtain with the neck of his guitar gripped in white knuckles. His voice wavered when he gave his introductions, and a prominent pink blush coated his cheeks after he realized everyone’s eyes were on him. It was clear as day that speaking in front of such a large crowd made him nervous. It was only once he’d strummed out the first few notes on his guitar that all of the tension melted away, and a weird type of demeanor settled over him; almost like the music gives him unwavering confidence… or he’s using his guitar as a shield. 

The guitar pick was warm in my palm, and smooth to the touch. In the center, was a slightly raised oval, about the size of my pinky nail, colored ultramarine. Radiating outward from the oval were six angled lines, almost like… legs? When I held the pick up at a different orientation, I could see that the design on it was a blue beetle. Definitely not what I was expecting. Nonetheless, it was actually pretty cool. 

While Jaime was getting reset on stage for his second song, I quietly tucked the guitar pick away in my pocket for safekeeping. With everyone’s envious eyes on me, I couldn’t be too sure someone wouldn’t try to steal it. Jaime had specifically chosen me to give the pick to, and I wasn’t going to let it go to some desperate, whiny teenage girl. 

I shoved my hands into my pockets, absentmindedly running the fingers of my right hand over the guitar pick in time with the new melody Jaime was beginning to strum out. Luckily, it seemed to win back the crowd’s approval, turning their eyes back to Jaime, and taking them off of me. 

I released a breath I didn’t even know I was holding. It was a tough crowd, and I wasn’t even the one performing. There is no way I can ever imagine myself getting up on a stage in front of people like that. Don’t get me wrong, I am a people person, but there is only so much undivided attention on myself that I can take before I start to get anxious. How Jaime does it so flawlessly without getting stage fright is beyond me. 

By the time Jaime was getting ready to start his last song for the night, the crowd was almost as keyed up as I had been before his set had started. Even I was bouncing on my toes, eager for some kind of movement. A chatty hum had fallen over the crowd, and there was an energy pent up in the air, almost like the static you experience right before a lightning storm. 

Jaime must have sensed it too, because rather than just announcing the name of the song he was going to play and then going right into it, he took the time to hush the crowd and then gave a mini speech. 

“Puedo decir que estás ansioso por moverte,” he said with a charming smile. “¿Estoy tan aburrido?” 

He got a laugh out of the crowd and a few protesting “No!”s from the Latinas in the front row. 

Jaime laughed too, and it was just as musical as his singing voice. “Puedes ser real conmigo. Esta bien. Mi canción siguiente debería ser familiar contigo. Es un baile de línea popular, además, es un buen guiño a mi estado natal, Texas. ¿Tengo algunas compañeros tejanos por ahí?” 

Two women in the middle of the crowd waved their hands and whistled. 

Jaime gave a thoughtful hum. “¿Sólo dos? Bueno, por ustedes no tejanos, ¡bienvenidas al rodeo!” 

A racketous roar rose from the crowd, and before it died down, Jaime was already strumming with a huge smile on his face. 

Everyone around Cassie and I was tapping their right foot, establishing a beat while the song started out slow. Within a measure or two, Cassie and I were tapping along too. Then, just as I was getting used to it, the crowd dissolved into organized chaos. 

Cass and I were jostled right, and then left as everyone on either side of us shuffled back and forth, seemingly in a preestablished pattern. I was nearly shoved back onto my ass as the raven-haired girl in front of me stepped back in time with the rest of the crowd. Luckily, Cassie caught my flailing arm before I had to resort to catching myself on the girl’s long ponytail. I have a feeling she would not have appreciated me yanking on it, though in my opinion, I think she kind of deserved it (especially after stepping on my toes three times within the next two minutes). 

“Do you know this one?” I shouted to my blonde friend over the sounds of shuffling feet, Jaime’s guitar, and the cheering from the women around us. 

Cassie shook her head. I could see her eyes scanning the crowd, shifting between watching the women’s feet and the rest of them as a whole, trying to catch on to which way we were supposed to be moving next. Usually, I’m a pretty fast learner, but even I’ll admit that it took me about half the song to figure it out. 

The dance moves in and of themselves weren’t difficult; just a two-step shuffle and turn. What was hard was trying to establish the order of the turns, and the direction we were supposed to be moving. I think I spent more time stumbling half-steps in the wrong direction before being bumped into, than I actually spent guessing and moving in the right direction. When I looked over at Cassie, I could tell she was having just as difficult a time. Nonetheless, both of our mouths were curved upwards at the corners. 

We laughed at one another as we bumped into each other, and when I spun around to face the stage, my eyes landed on Jaime, who seemed to be having a grand time watching. Correction: not just watching. He was shuffling along with everyone else up on stage while playing! His fingers moved across the strings with a rapid ease, and his booted feet thumped against the rubber-coated metal of the stage in perfect synchronization with everyone else’s. How the hell he managed to not miss a note or step, while I was stumbling over my own two left feet made me begin to question whether or not Jaime was actually human. His sense of rhythm puts a metronome to shame. 

His amber eyes were alight with amusement, and the shine in them was a pretty good contender for his coruscating smile. It was clear that he was enjoying performing, and having just as much, if not more fun than those of us in the crowd. The look of pure delight on his face was infectious, and I could feel my heart fluttering  _ because _ he was happy. 

When the song came to a close, there were cheers and protests from the crowd. The demand of an encore echoed off of the stone walls of the café. Most performers in Jaime’s position would have taken the opportunity, but surprisingly, Jaime refused. 

“Lo siento,” he apologized, “pero, realmente disfruté actuando para ti esta noche. Eres una multitud increíble. Espero volver a actuar pronto. Gracias por venir.” 

Jaime took a quick bow, the confidence slowly beginning to leak out of him as a bright pink blush coated his cheeks when he straightened up again. He gave a shy wave to the audience as he walked off stage, leaving the curtain to close behind him, and the stage lights to slowly dim, marking his departure. 

“Well, that was fun,” Cassie turned to me and commented once the crowd started thinning out. 

I nodded my head in agreement. Once again, I’d had an amazing time. 

“So-” Cassie sidled up to my side, wagging her eyebrows suggestively. “You ready to go meet Mr. Hottie Reyes backstage?” 

Despite the unoriginality of Cassie’s tease, I still found myself blushing. I fingered the VIP backstage pass on the lanyard around my neck, uncertain. Then my hand dropped down to briefly skim over the exterior of my right pocket where Jaime’s guitar pick was. At the beginning of the performance, I had been determined to meet Jaime face-to-face and ask him for the translation of Matándome Suavemente, but now, I have to admit, I was having second thoughts. Jaime coming down into the crowd tonight, singling me out, standing less than a foot away from me, _singing to me_ , had been completely unexpected. It was clear now that he had some kind of special interest in me, but I didn’t know why. Was he trying to make some kind of point by singling me out? What was the point in turning his _female_ _Latina_ crowd against him to flirt (could it even be called flirting, what he had done?) with the only white male at his show?

What would it look like if I did use my backstage pass? Sure, most of the crowd had already dispersed and exited the café, but for those who had stuck around, what would they think if they saw me going backstage? Cassie had said the VIP pass she’d gotten for me was extremely exclusive; she hadn’t even been able to obtain one for herself. How would my actions impact Jaime? The last thing I wanted to do was get him in trouble. I already knew that what he had done tonight, giving me the guitar pick was an extremely risky move. As an openly gay man, I know the type of ridicule that LGBT+ people suffer on a day-to-day basis. Hell, I’ve suffered some of that type of ridicule myself. The last thing I want is for Jaime to have to suffer. 

Combine his actions tonight during the show, and me using my exclusive backstage pass, and I knew I would be creating an equation that could only equal gossip. People would not think that Jaime singling me out of the crowd, and me having a VIP pass was coincidence. They would think I was getting special treatment. The last thing Jaime needed were rumors being spread about his sexuality (hell, I didn’t even know if Jaime was into men, but it was certain that that was exactly what everyone would be thinking). His fan base was all women. If it came out that Jaime was gay (and I’m assuming here, which I know is wrong, but I was taking the worst possible scenario into mind), none of the women would be interested in attending his shows. Call it shallow, but I knew the reason most of the women were coming to Jaime’s performances was because they were more attracted to how he looked, rather than his music. 

“I don’t have a backstage pass, plus I have to use the restroom,” Cassie said to me, while I was still trying to get the blush on my face under control. “So do you want to meet me at the car after you’re done? No rush-!” she got out quickly. “I worked my ass off for that for you! So take all the time you want.” 

And that, unfortunately, was where the other shoe dropped. I knew Cassie had worked super hard to get me the VIP pass, and I would be shitting on everything that she had done by not using it. I knew she had done everything out of good intent, and  _ I did want to use it _ , but the more logical side of my mind was still reading me the riot act. 

I forced a smile, and “cheerily” agreed to Cassie’s plan of meeting back at the car. As she headed off for the bathroom, I made my way towards the backstage area. One of Cassie’s coworkers was acting as security, and saw me approaching. When he asked for my pass though, I sheepishly told him that I would not be using it. 

“Your loss, man,” he said with an understandably confused tone. “Just let me know if you change your mind.” Behind him, I could see the prep area where all of the cover bands that performed at the café warmed up. Pieces to a drum set were lined up along one wall, and a few microphone stands of varying heights were tucked into a corner. In the middle of the room were two cushy looking armchairs, one of which was occupied by none other than the source of my uncertainty. 

Jaime was seated in one of the armchairs, bent over his own lap so that he could fumble with the metal clasps on what appeared to be his guitar case. The electric blue case was resting at his feet, and I could just barely see the smooth, cream-colored headstock of Jaime’s acoustic peeking between the top and bottom lips of the case, where he was trying to close the clasps. It looked like Jaime was packing up, and was close to leaving the café himself. 

With my mind still not a hundred percent made up, I acted on impulse. I turned back to Cassie’s coworker and hastily said, “I still don’t want to use my pass, but could you maybe pass along a note for me?” 

I pulled out my wallet and quickly dug into it for something to write on. See, I used to keep small scraps of paper and a little golf pencil in my wallet, because yes, I was that jerky dude who gave out my phone number willy-nilly to the guys at frat parties drunk-me would flirt with. (Not that my handwriting would have actually been legible with all of the alcohol in my system, which is probably why I never received any calls back). But oddly enough, since writing this note to Jaime, I haven’t used a single one. 

Using the wall as a writing surface, I quickly scribbled out my message: 

_ Dear Jaime,  _

_ I really enjoyed your performance tonight. You are a very talented guitar player and singer. Your song ‘Matándome Suavemente’ in particular is very moving. So much so that it has brought me to tears twice now. I would really like to know what the lyrics mean.  _

_ Thank you for the guitar pick. The blue beetle is very cute. I would love to hear the story behind its design.  _

_ I really look forward to attending more of your shows in the future.  _

Here I paused, tapping the short, stubby end of the little pencil against the wall in thought. I wasn’t sure how to sign my note. ‘Best regards’ sounded too stuffy and business-like, whereas ‘Love, Bart’ was way too informal, and would probably scare Jaime off before I even got a chance to formally meet him (that was, if I did happen to get another chance). I wasn’t even sure whether or not I should use my full name. Sure, I knew Jaime’s, but then again, so did everyone who attended his shows. Would he even care what my name was? 

Eventually, I settled with:

_ Yours truly,  _

_ B. Allen _

I figured it blurred the lines between formality and informality. The ‘yours truly’ bit was a closing you would use on a letter to a friend, and by signing my last name, rather than as just ‘B’ or ‘Bart’, there was a respectful level of distance maintained. 

I quickly folded my note in half a few times, in an attempt to keep the security guard from reading it before handing it to him. 

“You want me to pass this to Reyes?” 

I nodded, feeling oddly shy. I just hoped I wasn’t stepping out of line. Having not frequented very many shows, I didn’t know whether or not passing notes to performers was proper etiquette. Nonetheless, Cassie’s coworker took it, and told me he would give it to Jaime. 

I have to admit, I had no idea how he would react. Would Jaime be happy? Annoyed? Angered? There was no telling. And I didn’t stick around long enough to find out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please don't be shy to leave comments (I love reading them and hearing what y'all have to say). I know my Spanish isn't the best, so if you notice I made any mistakes in those portions, please do not hesitate to correct me. I'm still learning the language, and would love pointers. 
> 
> Like I did in the last chapter, I'm gonna leave the list of songs Jaime performed here with some links in case y'all want to check them out. 1st song: [Matandome Suavemente by Pandora](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PMmik02vTFc) ([acoustic version by Frank Sinatra](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9mDyok46MRM)). 2nd song: [Desde Esa Noche by Thalia & Maluma](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YsqduI74rek). 3rd song: [Payaso de rodeo by Caballo Dorado](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rn6WWw9eDa8). I included a video of the dance for the last song, in case I did a bad job explaining it in the chapter. I've only seen it danced once in person, and was not able to replicate the steps myself, so the confusion Bart and Cassie feel in this chapter during Payaso de rodeo is very similar to how I felt XD.


	3. Forging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bart pays a visit to the Wayne residence. Jaime takes a special interest in a particular audience member.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooooo it's been awhile since I've posted any writing. I've had this chapter written for awhile, but was uncertain of when I would feel comfortable posting it. I go through a pretty rigorous editing ritual (if it can even be called that), so usually it takes me awhile to feel happy with anything I write. Honestly, the only reason I'm posting this chapter now is because of a little push from a special buddy of mine (You know who you are... XD). But yeah, hopefully it isn't too terrible???

Confession time. I lied to Cassie about going to see Jaime backstage, and hid my VIP pass in my pocket before going out to meet her at the car. Then again, you already knew that. Fast forward to the time Cassie was dropping me back off at my apartment, and I had told so many lies, if I were Pinnochio, my nose would have stretched for miles. 

When I finally managed to fumble my key into the door lock, I shuffled into mine and Gar’s apartment, listening to see whether or not my roommate had returned from his date night. Finding it quiet, I assumed that meant Gar had already gone to bed, or he had gone over to Perdita’s rather than bringing her back to our apartment. Regardless, I was grateful for the silence. Despite how immensely I’d enjoyed myself at Jaime’s show, I was out of energy, and in desperate need of sleep. 

When I got to my room down the hall, I shucked out of my skinny jeans and oxfords, leaving them on the floor, and tucked into bed wearing my oversized sweater and boxers. When I closed my eyes, I found that I couldn’t fall asleep. My body felt tired, but my mind was still running. 

Detailed imagery of the show from tonight was projecting against the insides of my eyelids like a personal movie theater. My mind’s camera panned in on Jaime, up on stage, and like at the first concert, his breathtaking sorrel eyes were locked on me. He had this charming smile on his lips, and his voice was piercing the air; the most melodious sound ever. The lights were gleaming down on his brown skin, that familiar sheen of sweat making him look shiny, and giving him an almost ethereal glow. When he got up from the stool to come down into the crowd, my heart began beating double time, and it was then that I remembered the guitar pick. I’d left it in the pocket of my jeans when I’d shucked them off on the floor. 

Soundlessly, I tossed aside the duvet and slipped out of bed, tiptoeing across my room to the abandoned pants. Upon digging into the pockets, I discovered not only the cute blue beetle guitar pick I’d been gifted, but also my slightly wrinkled and slightly expired backstage VIP pass. Immediately, an idea struck me. 

I leaped over to my nightstand and flicked on the lamp sitting on top, flooding my room with light. Flopping back down onto my bed, I clutched the guitar pick in one palm, and held the pass tight with the other. My beryl eyes roved over the details printed on the VIP pass, and I made a discovery that would ultimately lead me to my plan of action the following day: the lamination on the backstage ticket was the cheap plastic type that could easily be peeled apart to reveal the paper inside. If I asked nicely, Jason would have no problems making me an altered copy with a non-expired date. I just had to find out from Cassie when Jaime’s next show would be. 

With my mind made up on that front, I decided to get a bit closer of a look at the guitar pick. The electric blue of the raised oval representing the shell of the beetle had some grooves in it that I hadn’t noticed before. It really sold the design. The edges of the black plastic surrounding it were heavily curved, which would explain why the rhythms Jaime played were so soft-sounding. The pick was only vaguely triangular in shape— more circular, actually— unlike that you would find on an electric guitar pick. Jaime’s style of playing was a gentle strum of the chords, with the occasional pluck of a note or two, whereas an electric guitar player would be quickly fingering specific distinct notes, and would therefore need a sharper pick to do so. 

When I flipped the plectrum over, I was surprised to see some symbols painted in neon blue. They looked almost like letters, though from a language I’d never seen before. From what I could infer, there was only one word, only two symbols long. Despite only being fluent in English, I can at least recognize what other written languages look like, and the letters (could they even be called that?) on the back of Jaime’s guitar pick did not look like any earthly language I’d ever seen before. 

I ran my thumb back and forth over the glossy finish, turning the pick this way and that, before settling with it over the curve of the “beetle’s shell”. That was the most comfortable way I could find to hold the thing. I assumed that’s how Jaime would hold it, too. Then again, what did I know about playing the guitar? Before seeing Jaime perform, I’d never been into music at all. Track and running were more my speed (pun intended), and video games and comic books provided great entertainment when I was in a more lazy state of mind. My curiosity about music and the Spanish language could one-hundred percent be attributed to Jaime. 

That night, when my body did finally resign to sleep, it was with Jaime’s guitar pick in my hand, and a new hope in my heart. 

The first thing I did when I woke up the next morning was shoot my stagehand friend Cassie a text. 

‘ **Can u tell me when Jaime’s nxt show is?** ’ 

Like always, she replied back almost instantaneously. ‘ **Someone’s desperate. Something good must’ve happened backstage last night. Spill the tea.** ’ Each sentence came through as a separate message.

I groaned out loud, slapping my palms to my face and dragging them back down again in exasperation. ‘ **I already did,** ’ I texted back. I didn’t want to have to lie anymore about ‘meeting’ Jaime last night than I already had. ‘ **Can u just tell me when his nxt show is? Plz?** ’ 

I could imagine Cassie grinning on the other side of her phone screen. ‘ **Sure but only bc ily. Also bc I hope this works out 4 u. U need a good bf.** ’ 

I rolled my eyes. I can’t deny being attracted to Jaime. He is beautiful, humble, has an angelic voice, and is talented as hell on the guitar. But just because I was beginning to catch feelings didn’t mean that Jaime necessarily felt the same. 

‘ **Ur over exaggerating,** ’ I shot back. ‘ **Y would someone like him want 2 date someone like me?** ’

‘ **Bc ur amazing???** ’ The triple question marks portrayed Cassie’s audacious disbelief over my statement. ‘ **& in case u didn’t notice he was totally hitting on u @ the show last night.** ’ 

I could feel myself blushing, despite the honest opinions I was expressing through my texts. ‘ **He gave me a guitar pick. Big whoop.** ’ 

‘ **Yeah big whoop,** ’ Cassie fired back, quickly. ‘ **He singled u out.** **U were the only guy there.** ’ 

‘ **Ik.** ’ I was going to type more, but another response from Cassie pinged my phone before I had the chance. 

‘ **He’s single y’know. Nvr seen a gf or bf @ any of his shows b4.’**

‘ **So what? Doesn’t mean he’s single. I’d honestly b surprised if he is. He’s 2 hot 2 not b in a relationship. Even if by some miracle he isn’t, he probably has his pick of suitors lined up & down the street. He can afford 2 b choosy.** ’ 

‘ **Someone’s jealous.** ’ I don’t think words on a screen could be any more smug. 

‘ **I’m NOT jealous,** ’ I defended my position. ‘ **I’m jbh.** ’ 

I swear I could hear Cassie’s frustrated sigh through the phone. ‘ **Face facts Bart. HE IS INTO U! STOP BEING SO STUBBORN.** ’ 

‘ **I’M NOT STUBBORN. UR THE 1 WHO WON’T TELL ME WHEN HIS NXT SHOW IS!** ’ 

‘ **2 weeks. Saturday. Ur on ur own 4 tickets tho. Sry. Used up all my freebies.** ’ 

I sighed and briefly switched apps from texting to my calendar. The Saturday two weeks from now was August 24th. That was the date I had to get Jason to put on my ‘new’ backstage pass. 

‘ **Thx.** ’ 

‘ **Np,** ’ Cassie replied, ‘ **But ffs Bart, @ least show him ur interested. He’s kinda shy if u haven’t noticed. Use ur chaotic gay energy 2 its full potential.** ’ 

I scoffed as I read the last sentence. ‘ **1st, u should know better than 2 stereotype. 2nd, I might b a chaotic gay, but when I decide 2 use my rainbow powers is my choice. 3rd, I’ll try my best** .’ 

‘ **:) That’s all I ask.** ’ 

I rolled out of bed, and slouched into the bathroom across the hall for a quick piss and to brush my teeth. Then it was back to my room to decide what I was going to wear. Rather than stressing over it for three hours like I did before Jaime’s last concert, I managed to pick out an outfit in less than five minutes. I settled for an old track warmup shirt I’d worn in high school, and tan cargo shorts. I threw on some deodorant, a pair of mismatched socks, my red Converse, and ran my fingers through my hair to tame it before sliding into the kitchenette to make myself some breakfast. Gar was already up, and sitting at the island. 

“Mornin’.” I gave him a quick salute in response to his greeting. “There’s extra eggs and toast if you want it,” he offered. 

When I looked into the pan on the stove, a mixture of tofu scrambled eggs, diced tomato, green bell peppers and avocado met my sight. That’s another thing about Gar; he follows a strict vegan diet. Dude is crazy about animals and animal rights. Not that I can judge too harshly. Gar puts up with plenty of my weird shit, plus, I’m never one to complain about free food. 

Grabbing a plate from the drying rack, I shoveled the rest of the eggs onto it, and snatched the last two pieces of toast from the toaster. Gar had the grape jelly sitting out on the counter, and I slathered about half of the jar onto my crispy bread. 

My green-haired roommate shook his head. “I’ll never get over how much you eat, man. Where the hell does it all go?” 

I shrugged my shoulders, mouth full of tofu eggs at that point. Gar finished up his last few bites of toast. 

“Well, I’m gonna visit Megan,” he said, referring to his half-sister. “Where are you headed?” 

I chewed what was in my mouth before answering, “Waynes.” 

Garfield gave me a sideways look. “I thought you and Tim were still…” He held up his hand sideways, tilting it back and forth in a either-or way. 

I quickly waved him off. It was still kind of a sore point. “I’m seeing Jason.” 

Gar’s eyebrows rose. “Since when are you and him buddy-buddy?” 

I pointed my fork at him. “Since he has the ability to forge official documents.” 

Gar’s expression morphed even further into confusion. “What kind of shady shit are you getting yourself into, Bart?” 

I shook my head. “Nothing. I just need him to do me a quick favor. Nothing illegal.” I reconsidered my words. “Nothing heinously illegal. I just need him to smudge the date on something for me.” 

“Whatever, dude.” Gar stepped over to put his dishes in the sink and wash up. “Just know that if your ass ends up in jail, I don’t have the cash to bail you out.” 

I rolled my eyes. “Noted. Now go ride your high horse over to Megan’s house and stop lecturing me!” I stuck my fingers in my ears like an immature child to show Gar that I was no longer listening. 

His green eyes gleamed with smug amusement as he stuck his tongue out at me, just as immaturely. “Later, dude.” He snatched his keys from the table beside the door and slammed it behind him as he left. 

I quickly gulped down my breakfast as well and went on my way. 

The Wayne house wasn’t too far from the apartment. Ten minutes by car, thirty on foot. It’s still the same house that I had grown up living across from. In fact, my grandparents still live there. Not that I would be visiting them today. Today, I was on a different mission. 

By the time I got to the enormous house shadowing the rest of the block, I had worked up a little bit of a sweat. Summers in Missouri are hot and humid. 

I held my breath as I reached up to knock on the front door. Please don’t be Tim. Please don’t be Tim. Please don’t be Tim. I would take ANY of the Waynes besides Tim. Well… maybe not Damian. That kid is a little shit. But Tim has two other brothers, a father, and a butler. I would gratefully take Dick, Jason, Bruce, or Alfred over an awkward run in with my ‘best friend’ right now. 

Luckily, my prayer was answered. Dick opened the door. 

“Oh. Hey, Bart.” I could tell by his tone that he wasn’t exactly impressed to see me. Tim must have told Dick what had happened between us. 

“Hey,” I replied back, rubbing at my nape, shyly. “Is Jason around?” 

Dick narrowed his eyes. “You’re not buying drugs, are you?” He crossed his arms. Everyone in the Wayne family knows about Jason’s illegal dealings, yet none of them really have the power to stop him. Jason does whatever the fuck he wants, without real regard for the consequences. 

I shook my head in answer to Dick’s inquiry. 

“Well, I know you’re here for something illegal. You and Jay aren’t exactly buddies.” His black brows rose in a look that said he knew he was right, and was just waiting to bust me in a lie. 

So I didn’t lie. “If you’re going to arrest me, Dick, just get it over with.” 

Dick sighed in exasperation, dropping his arms back down to his sides. “Do you really want me to follow up on that? Because we both know that I can.” 

I crossed my arms and met Dick’s icy blue stare with a green glare of my own. Our staring contest went on for several minutes before I realized Dick wasn’t budging. There was only one way I could think of to get my way. 

“Do it for love?” I turned my eyes from the dark, narrowed stare into wide, pleading puppy eyes. If anyone is a sucker for cute pouty faces and a saucy romance, it is Dick Grayson. 

The eldest Wayne brother caved. “Who is it?” And yep, there was the gossip-hungry Grayson I was expecting. 

I blushed. “His name is Jaime,” I said, quietly. 

Dick slouched against the inside of the door frame, settling in for the story. “Where did you two meet?” he asked. 

I shuffled anxiously on the porch. “The performance café. He sings there, sometimes.” I could feel my face getting as red as my hair. 

Dick’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “I didn’t take you for a music person.” 

“I’m usually not,” I said, “but Jaime’s special.” 

Grayson smiled. “How long have you two been together?” 

My eyes dropped to the ground in embarrassment. Would Dick think I was stupid for fawning over a guy I hadn’t officially met yet? “Technically, he doesn’t even know my name.” 

I startled when Dick’s hand landed on my shoulder. He gave me a comforting smile. “So you’re trying to get his attention.” It was more of a statement than a question. 

I nodded. 

“Well, I guess for the sake of love, I can give you a pass. What do you need Jay to do?” 

I pulled my expired backstage pass out of my pocket. “I need him to fudge the date on this. Cassie got it for me for the last of his concerts, but I chickened out and didn’t use it.” 

Dick held his hand out, and I gave him the VIP pass to inspect. “So you want a do-over?” 

I nodded again. He handed me back the ticket. 

“Why didn’t you just say that to begin with? I wouldn’t have given you such a hard time.” 

I just about deflated. All of that effort… wasted. 

Dick turned around and reentered the house, inviting me in. 

“Jay!” he bellowed. “Bart’s here to see you!” 

It was a few minutes before the mop of white-streaked black hair appeared down the corridor. Jason had been in the library. His ostentatious green gaze was locked on the copy of Macbeth dangling from his scarred fingers. 

“By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes!” Dick called out loudly enough that his younger brother could hear. 

Jason scowled, eyes refusing to leave his beloved literature. “Dammit, guess Dickhead beat me to it.” It wasn’t until he was right in front of us that he finally looked up from his Shakespeare. 

Dick smirked. “What’s done cannot be undone.” 

Jason did not look amused. “Oh, fuck off.” 

“Pretty sure Shakespeare was more eloquent with his insults than that.” Dick looked smug. 

“Out, damned spot! Out, I say!” Jason narrowed his gaze, as he pointed his finger down the hallway, trying to banish Dick. 

Dick shrugged. “Fair enough.” He turned to walk away, somewhere deeper into the house. “Don’t sell him any drugs.” 

Jason gasped in mock offense. “Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame.” 

Dick shook his head, but went on his way. Jason dogeared the page of his book and closed it before turning his attention to me. 

“Done nerding out?” I asked. 

Jason scoffed. “His wit’s as thick as a Tewkesbury mustard.” 

I shook my head. “I don’t know what the fuck that means, but I’m insulted.” 

Jason laughed. “Whatcha need, Little Flash?” He used the nickname he’d been calling me since we’d first been introduced. “Cuz I already know you’re not here to buy drugs. Despite what Dickhead thinks, I know you’re a good kid.” He reached out and ruffled my hair, much to my displeasure. 

I huffed and blew the auburn strands of my bangs back out of my face. “I need you to fudge the date on this for me. It’s past its expiration.” I dug into my pocket and pulled out the VIP pass. 

Jason took it from me and inspected it. “I’ll help you out, but only because you have decent taste.” 

I cheered internally. I guess I’m lucky Hispanic guys do it for me, and that Jason happens to have some Spanish blood. If Jaime was just another white guy, I probably would have had to argue for Jason to offer his services. Despite his misguided morals, Jason is nothing if not educated and cultured. 

“On one condition.” Oh, fuck. “You need to make up with Timmers. He’s been a pouty bitch since your falling out.” 

I couldn’t help scowling. Nothing like driving a hard bargain. This was going to be awkward as fuck. 

“I’ll fix up your pass here while you make amends with my little bro. I’ll give it back once I know Timmy’s broken out of his most recent emo phase.” 

“Seriously?” I whined. “Do you even know what happened?” 

Jason nodded. “Not my fault you two are idiots. I’m not mad at you. I could give a shit less about who my brother sleeps with; that’s none of my business. What is my business though, is the fact that he’s moping around this house like someone’s replaced all of his espresso beans with decaf.” 

I groaned unhappily. “There’s nothing else I can do to get that pass back?” 

“Get to it Horatio. Make amends with Hamlet.” He shooed me in the direction of Tim’s room. 

Reluctantly I went, dragging my feet and grumbling curses the entire time. When I got to the familiar door down the hall, I stalled. I  _ really _ did not want to be doing this. I hemmed and hawed about it for quite awhile before finally just taking the bullet. If Tim didn’t shoot me down immediately, this conversation would surely be like bleeding out slowly. 

My knuckles rapped against the wood. 

“Go away, Dick. I don’t want to talk.” 

I took a deep breath. “I’m probably the  _ last _ person you want to see right now,” I began, “but Jason is being a prick, and he’s the one who put me up to this, so try to reserve a little bit of your anger for him.” 

I waited with baited breath for Tim to give some kind of annoyed acknowledgment. What I didn’t expect was for the door to swing open in front of my face. 

Simply put, Tim looked like shit. His hair was greasy and limp, he had dark circles under his eyes, and he was shaking— evidence that he had had one too many cups of coffee. His shirt was in desperate need of an iron, and the scent of something foul was slowly seeping out of the room from around him. 

“Dude, you look like shit.” Unfortunately, I’ve never had much of a mind-mouth filter. 

“Good to see you, too,” Tim replied, dryly. 

Both of us stood on either side of the door frame in silence, refusing to make eye contact. The tension was so thick, it would have taken an industrial-grade chainsaw to cut through. Eventually, my antsiness and intolerability for silence tipped the scales. 

“We can’t take back what happened.” 

“It was a mistake.” 

I nodded. “Yeah.” 

Tim sighed. “I’m sorry. I was curious. You shouldn’t have been my test subject. It’s my fault we’re in this mess.” 

“We were both drunk.” 

Tim shook his head. “You’re my best friend. And you trusted me enough to come out to me, and be honest about who you are. I shouldn’t have taken advantage.” 

I shrugged. Tim’s apology and him taking responsibility for this mess did make me feel a little better, but deep down, I was still hurting. “You weren’t that good of a fuck, anyway,” I said, and immediately regretted it. 

Tim’s glare made me want to curl up and die. “I’m trying to apologize here,” he said. “Can you take this seriously?” 

I averted my gaze. “Sorry,” I said, and actually meant it. 

Tim looked tired enough that a simple tap would knock him over. “I respect you as a person, Bart, and I’m lucky to have you as a friend. I don’t want this disaster between us to mess things up. All I can do at this point is say I’m sorry, and take responsibility for what happened. I know that doesn’t fix things, and we can’t take back that night, but we can move forward. I’m sorry for taking advantage of you and your feelings. What we did was really stupid.” 

I took a moment to think before opening my mouth this time. Tim was being really mature about things, and I knew I had to be careful about what I said next, or I would permanently severe the ties of our friendship. 

“I appreciate the apology,” I said. “I’ll admit, I’m still a little hurt, but I can take responsibility for what happened too. I was drunk, my boyfriend had just dumped me, and I was desperate. Not the best combination. You’ve been my best friend forever, Timmy, and I know you care about me. I wanted to prove to myself that I was lovable, and you were willing. All in all, not our brightest moment, but I think I can move on from it.” 

Tim nodded. He held out his hand. With a firm exhale, I took it. 

“We’re moving past this.” 

“We’re moving past this,” I repeated. 

We shook on it. 

I exhaled again, this time in relief. “Now that the heavy shit is out of the way, you really need a shower.” I took a whiff of the scent coming off of the third eldest Wayne and almost gagged. 

A small smile cracked Tim’s lips. “Yeah. Coffee sweats. Too bad it doesn’t smell like espresso… bean-scented cologne. Shit, I gotta patent that.” 

Tim’s revelation  _ did _ make me gag. “At this point, you’ve got beans for brains,” I said. “Take a damn shower, and then go visit Cass. She’s worried about you, y’know.” 

Tim nodded. “Yeah. Thanks, Bart.” 

I just nodded my head in the direction of where I knew the bathroom to be. Tim shuffled past me with a chuckle. 

After watching him disappear into the restroom, and hearing the water start up, I turned and began my journey of searching for Jason. Along the way, I ran into the faithful Wayne butler. 

“Master Bartholomew, what a surprise,” Alfred commented. “I assume by the sound of running water and the fading scent of depression, you have made amends with Master Timothy?” 

I nodded. “Um, Mr. Pennyworth?” I’ll never know how to address him. “Do you happen to know where Jason might be?” 

Alfred gave a thoughtful hum. “I last saw Master Jason in the library. If not there, then I would check his quarters.” 

“Thanks.” I brushed past the old butler as quickly as I could. Alfred gives me weird vibes, like he’s always silently judging me. I don’t know how any of the Waynes live with him without feeling inadequate. 

Jason wasn’t in the library. His room was a different story. The scent of printer ink and glue leached out from the crack below the door. “Hey, Queen Gertrude, open up!” I pounded my fist against the wooden panel. 

Jason swung the door open. The first thing I noticed was that he had tied his hair back, and that some of the white of his bangs was dangling in strands around his ears. He had also changed from the leather jacket and jeans he’d been wearing before into a wifebeater and a stained pair of canvas pants. 

“Implying that I’ve slept with my husband’s brother? How scandalous. Only a few problems with that analogy. One, Roy doesn’t have actual siblings. Two, Roy is technically still married to Jade, even if they are in an open relationship. And three, I haven’t slept with either of them. Christ, I do not want to incite that crazy bitch’s wrath. I might be Lian’s ‘Uncle Jason’, but ‘Daddy Jason’ is never gonna happen while Jade’s still around.” 

I blinked. I really did not need that much of an explanation. Luckily, I could still brush it off. “Yeah, yeah, you and Roy fucking each other with your eyes will have to suffice for now. Is my pass done?” 

Jason smirked. “You’re a selfish son of a bitch, Allen. But yeah, your pass is done. August 24th, like you said.” He held the relaminated pass with the correct date up for me to see. I held out my hand. 

Jason immediately snatched the pass back. “Did you make up with Timmy?” 

“He’s in the shower,” I answered by way of explanation. 

Jason and I listened to the sound of the water pounding the walls further down the hallway. With a shrug, Jason handed me the ticket. 

“Good luck, Little Flash,” he said. “Hope you get your man.” 

I gave him a thank you in return, and showed myself out of the Wayne residence, now that my business there was done. All I had to do now was wait two weeks for the 24th to roll around. 

It came surprisingly fast. Soon, I was in front of my closet once more, panicking over what to wear. Tim once again provided to be my fashion guru, just this time with a lot less malice hanging between us. 

A white hoodie, black leather jacket, black skinny jeans and my white leather Vans completed the recommended outfit. Given the sweltering summer weather, and the fact that I had to walk to the café this time around, probably not the best choice, but I wanted to look sharp for my first official meeting with Jaime. I was trying for a do-over, and it wouldn’t make any sense if I only put in a half-assed effort. 

The walk to the café was about the same as the walk to the Waynes’. Thirty minutes, and I was standing outside Cassie’s work, dying to get inside for a little relief from the blistering heat threatening to melt me to the asphalt. Granted, the café didn’t have the greatest AC, but because the majority of the interior was made of stone, and the lights were always off inside (save for the stage lights), the building always tended to run a little lower in temperature. 

Because Cassie hadn’t been able to get me tickets this time, I had to buy them at the door. The twenty dollars I spent? Well worth it. Even if I’d had to spend a hundred dollars, I would have. I was obsessed with Jaime's music. I wanted to know what Matándome Suávemente meant. I  _ had _ to know. And Jaime was the only one with the answers. 

When I got inside, the first thing I did was go to the bar. I needed something to help cool me off. Despite my deodorant and the splash of cologne I’d thrown on, I did not want to risk smelling like BO, especially since I wasn’t going to chicken out this time. I would be using my backstage pass, and I needed everything to go according to plan. 

Two rum and cokes later and I was ready for the show to start. After returning my second glass to the bartender, I made my way to my “designated” spot at the back of the crowd. I hadn’t had quite enough alcohol for a buzz, but the two glasses I had had were enough to help me shake my nerves. Plus, I wanted to have a clear head when I met Jaime. Acting a drunken fool in front of him would definitely not earn me any points, and I really needed the coherency to ask the right questions, in case our time together backstage was limited after the show. 

It was a little strange not having Cassie standing right next to me this time. She wasn’t working tonight. After my little chat with Tim two weeks ago, apparently they had decided to reconcile with one another, and were having a date night. That meant I was well and truly on my own for Jaime’s show tonight. 

I held my breath as he walked out on stage. Jaime looked like a true Texan. Black cowboy boots made dull thumping sounds with each footfall, and a matching suede cowboy hat sat atop his raven hair. The first button of the cotton blue shirt he had on was undone, and the sleeves had been messily rolled up to his elbows. Faded jeans were held up by a black belt with a ridiculously sized golden buckle. He looked every part the charming country singer who was going to steal your heart with his twangy guitar and throaty drawl of a voice. 

“Bienvenidos!” he greeted everyone. “Gracias por atender a mi show. Espero que disfrutes lo que te tengo reservado esta noche.” 

He set up as he was finishing his introduction, adjusting the height of the microphone, and getting comfortable on the stool with his guitar slung across his lap. He tossed the leather guitar strap over his shoulder, which indicated to me that he was going to pull another one of those “coming down into the crowd” stunts. Part of me was excited, and the other part of me was anxious all over again. 

When he began strumming out the opening of Matándome Suávemente, I closed my eyes and let myself get lost in the music. I swayed with the cadence of Jaime’s voice, once again mouthing along, and letting the sensations flood over me. The more times that I’d heard this song now, the stronger of a connection I felt with it, and the more strongly I could feel all of it penetrating my soul, and very being. It was something powerful, and the thing that connected me to Jaime. Even if he didn’t feel the same way, this song was the first time I’d ever heard Jaime’s voice, and his voice was what had put me under the spell and made me feel things for Jaime that I’d never felt for anyone else before. 

By the time his first song was over, I was definitely in a softer emotional state, but this time, I did not cry. The second song was when Jaime decided to be a cheeky little shit and pull the stunt I was both looking forward to and dreading. 

“La Rosa de Azul y Verde” was what Jaime had said this song was called. It had a fast-paced, simple tune that Jaime quickly picked out on his guitar, and the way he sung the words was with swift movements of the tongue, and gaspy pronunciation, like he was running out of breath by the end of each verse. 

He made his way into the crowd quickly this time, not walking to the back, but cutting into the middle. Eagerly, everyone made paths for him where Jaime indicated, and there was a smile on his face as he took the time to interact with some of his fans. He would continue strumming with his right hand as he used his left to take the wrists of squealing girls and give them a quick spin, as if he were dancing with them. It was just a few seconds and a fleeting touch for each girl he chose, but the action was met with uproarious approval from the crowd. 

Hungry eyes followed Jaime as he cut his way slowly towards the back of the group, each woman hoping she would be the next Jaime chose to dance with. By the time he made his way to me, jealous stares from the girls who had been ignored were digging daggers into Jaime’s back, and the girls who had been chosen were but mere swooning puddles, held up by their friends in an effort to keep them from melting to the floor. 

Jaime’s amber eyes went soft as soon as they connected with mine, and he held his left hand out to me in the same way he had to the women he had previously danced with. At first, I just assumed he was going to twirl me around in that playful way he had all the other women, but as soon as my fingers touched his, Jaime was guiding my hand to his shoulder. I blushed as I felt the flex of his bicep under my trembling palm, and I could feel the heat of several things all at once; the judgemental stares of the women around us, the embarrassment flushing at my cheeks, and the proximity Jaime had created between our bodies, as he offered his hand to me once more. 

When he guided my second hand to his waist, and settled it against his hip, and the small of his back, I nearly lost it. The hand that Jaime wasn’t using to strum the chords went to my own hip like a brand, heat radiating even through the two layers I was wearing. He took two quick steps forward, forcing me to take two back, and then tugged me gently towards him, as we retraced our steps. Once I got the hang of it, Jaime’s smile brightened, and his soft gaze warmed as he sang me the final verses of his song. 

“Hoy venido para verte sonreir / Desde el alma y sin excusas / Y no me canso de decir / Quiero verte totalmente feliz / La guitarra y yo hicimos este tema para ti / Y no dudo que sea / Suficiente para sonreír a tu corazón.” 

Before his hand left my hip, I felt Jaime’s fingers slip something into the back pocket of my skinny jeans. At first, I was surprised by the gesture, and then curiosity got the better of me. As soon as Jaime made his way back out of the crowd and was back on stage, I was pulling the object out of my pocket. 

A folded square of paper met my fingertips. Keeping a tight hold on it, I quickly unfolded it to discover a letter penned in blue ink. Big flowing script in all capitals met my eyes. 

_ Dear B. Allen (I would love to get your full name if possible, so that I can properly address you next time),  _

_ I really appreciated receiving your note. It is the first piece of fan mail I have ever gotten. I’m glad that you enjoy my music. It is an honor to hear such a compliment.  _

_ I’m also glad that you like the guitar pick. It was one of my favorites. As for the story behind its design… I’m not really sure, myself. I suppose I’ve always really liked the color blue, and I find beetles fascinating. I’m happy I was able to share that with you.  _

_ If you would like the translation of ‘Matándome Suávemente’, I’d be honored to formally meet you backstage tonight after the show. Just show this note to the security guard, and they should let you through. I look forward to meeting you.  _

_ Sincerely,  _

_ Jaime Reyes _

My breath got caught in my throat. Jaime wanted to meet me. I mean, sure, I had already planned on meeting him anyway, but knowing that he felt the same in return made my heart expand in my chest, and caused a swarm of butterflies to take flight in my stomach. There was no backing out. By the time Jaime was done performing tonight, I was going to meet him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'm gonna put the songs from this chapter here with some links for those of you who want to check them out... 
> 
> [Matandome Suavemente by Pandora](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PMmik02vTFc)   
> [acoustic version by Frank Sinatra](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9mDyok46MRM)
> 
> [La Rosa de Azul y Verde by Lee FitzSimmons](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=onXyAkGirts) Just a little side note for this one, kind of as a disclaimer, but I was unable to actually find any renditions of this song with the lyrics??? Like, if you look up the song, you can find the lyrics written out, but I don't know if they've ever actually been verbalized to the guitar track??? Correct me if I'm wrong, but I just based the lyrics Jaime sings in this chapter off of the lyrics I was able to find online. If anyone knows of where I can find a version of the song with the lyrics vocalized, I'd love to hear it!
> 
> [La Bicicleta by Carlos Vives and Shakira](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J7JLICGoZd8)
> 
> Have fun listening!

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's not my greatest piece of work, but if you enjoyed this enough, please feel free to leave comments. They truly warm my heart, and rn receiving anything from y'all would be amazing. Even if it's constructive criticism, I'll still take it. Also, if anyone out there speaks Spanish, and notices that I made any mistakes in the Spanish parts of this, please don't hesitate to correct me. My Spanish knowledge is limited to the three years I took in high school, and Google Translate, so I know it's not the best. 
> 
> For those of you wondering, the three songs that Jaime performs in this chapter are [Matandome Suavemente by Pandora](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PMmik02vTFc) (I would suggest listening to the [acoustic version of this song by Frank Sinatra](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9mDyok46MRM) as well. I imagine the way Jaime performs it is with Sinatra's instrumental track, but with Pandora's lyrics), [Una Volta Ancora by Fred De Palma & Ana Mena](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q_DZ2gNfe4U), and [Bailando by Enrique Iglesias](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NUsoVlDFqZg). 
> 
> I'll try to have the next update posted as soon as I'm able, if enough people actually show interest in this.


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